Saturday, March 5, 2011

Pacifiers & Bear blankets.

Sickening. Sickening, I tell you. I have been through this once before, but it still amazes me the progress one tiny little human can make in just 4 months of existence. I nearly teared up while folding this last load of laundry. Partly due to the song playing in the background, but mostly due to the fact that half of it went to a pile to be packed away. Curtis doesn't even fit in 3-6 month clothing anymore. I was excited to have another boy in the exact same month, but because Winter has continued on, Curtis is 3 weeks older, and 3 pounds bigger, I have actually had to buy a few articles of clothing for him to last through these cold days. All of Brock's 6 months plus clothing are Spring/Summer, therefore shorts and t-shirts. Not appropriate during a wintery mix storm.

Curtis went from a ball of nerves, only able to eat, sleep and poop to a little baby full of personality, who has decided he will respond only to the name, "ZaCuk". (Seriously, we have tested this over and over, say "Curtis" and you get no recognition. Say "ZaCuk" or "ZaCutkis" and bam! Head turns immediately toward whichever direction the voice came from. Looks like Brock's language has inspired us all.)Curtis is very nearly sitting on his own. And he is already trying REALLY hard to crawl. Unlike Brock who gave in to instant frustration (not sure where he got that trait?), he will lay on his belly and try, and try, and try, and try to get those arms and legs coordinated to reach whatever bait I have set before him while maintaining a smile. It takes quite a while for that child to reach his boiling point. And he is not stationary, by any means. Poor second child, I accidently let him fall off a chair weeks ago! How was I to know he would be able to rollover either way well before 3 months? If I lay him on his back on the floor play gym and leave to say, load the dishwasher, I always come back to find him a foot or so off of the mat. At this point, we need to start keeping an eye out for items small enough to choke a baby.

Speaking of choking a baby, Curtis puts everything in his mouth! His only goal in life, currently, is to reach for an object, grab hold of it, and instantly pull it to his mouth as quickly as possible. Brock had NO desire to put things in his mouth. Pretty sure we let him play with loose change. And Curtis is so sweet. He loves to be sung to sleep, while I rub his forhead, or stroke his cheek or hair. Though, this brings me to another frightening little habit Curtis has developed: burying his face to sleep. He absolutely must have something over his face, or at least covering part of his head to fall asleep (I find Matt napping with a pillow on his face, fairly often, so no mystery there.) In fact, Matt and I have an ongoing joke (which might be a little true) that Brock is his favorite because his personality so identically matches mine, and that Curtis is my favorite because his so identically matches Matt's. Though, when I look at it this way, I think to myself, what is wrong with Matt!? We are awful. No patience. Busy. Anxious. Stress-inducing. Demanding. Always right. Easily frustrated. He is a glutton for punishment.

Though, I don't really think it's too demanding to expect my husband to remember how much our child weighed, and how tall he was at his 4 month doctor's appointment...yet all he could tell me is that Curtis remains in the 90th %ile for weight (just under 17lbs) and is hovering somewhere in the 70's for height. I prefer specifics.

Time Wasters

Vineyard in Denmark

Followers

Us.

Something To Fall Back On

Ever since moving back home as an "adult" with my own place, I have been trying to conquer the abnormally large amount of childhood paraphernalia my mother and I have stowed away. Secretly, I had hoped it would all continue to reside in the deepest corners of our damp, old basement, you know, to keep the opportunity to revisit the good ol' days alive. I had hoped it would never be hauled out and moved to a new house, for all involved to witness the absurd number of boxes labeled "E" and filled with nothing but plastic horses and tea sets. And I really had hoped that these boxes would never take root in my own basement. But, alas, they have found refuge, not only in my home, but weighing heavily on my mind. This leaves only one option, I must sift thru every piece and decide its nostalgic worth.